


The Remarkable Messieurs Campion and Lugg

by aces



Category: Albert Campion Series - Allingham
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces





	The Remarkable Messieurs Campion and Lugg

"I say," came a voice, fuzzily, "are you alright, old chap?"

"Not quite," I gasped in reply, "no." I attempted to open my eyes—I was vaguely nauseated to realise blood had been dripping into my left one—and made out the outline of a tall, thin man standing over me in the otherwise apparently deserted street. Damn. My attackers had had enough time to run away—which begged the question of how long I had been unaware of my surroundings, if not outright unconscious.

"Oh dear," he said. He wore glasses, large thick horn-rims overtaking half his face. I was not reassured by his tone of voice, which was patently idiotic. "You _have_ been in a bit of a scrape, haven't you? Here, let me help you." He put a hand beneath my elbow and lifted me up with surprising strength. I staggered.

"Ah," he said, sheepish and contrite. "Perhaps that wasn't my brightest idea of the night. Steady, steady…"

I closed my eyes until the world decided to stop spinning. "Who are you?" I asked him faintly while I waited.

"A mere passer-by in the street, my dear sir. I've just come from the opera. I left my car over here…" He started moving me, still with a gentle hand at my elbow. I closed my eyes again quickly as the world swayed sickeningly. At least he kept our movements very slow. "My name's Campion. And you are…?"

"John," I answered slowly. It hurt somewhat to talk. "John Ashley…"

"Perhaps you could tell me what happened to you, Mr Ashley? Or are you in the habit of throwing yourself earnestly against brick walls and this would account for the rather nasty wound on your forehead?"

"I was mugged," I told him shortly. "When I attempted to resist, one of the three chaps knocked me over the head. You must have happened by just…after they…left…"

"Steady on, old chap." I found myself leaning into the other man, incapable of holding up my own weight anymore. I was quite, quite tired…

When I became aware of my surroundings again my new acquaintance had sat me down in a car, my head dropped close to my legs. "Breathe," he was saying quietly at what seemed regular intervals. Judging from the direction of his voice, he seemed to be crouching down next to me outside the automobile.

"Terribly sorry," I murmured, and gingerly rubbed at my temples. "I'm not used to being accosted on the street…"

He laughed quietly. "My dear chap, I would be more concerned if you _were_ used to it. After all, you might prove to be competition." I blinked up at him owlishly, and for once the world didn't tilt alarmingly. "Better?" he asked me, running an almost professional eye over me and nodding once, decisively. "You'll do for now. I'll take you back to my flat to get you cleaned up."

He started walking around the car—a recent model of an elegant Lagonda—to the driver's seat. "Wouldn't it be better to drop me off at a hospital?" I asked him as he tucked himself neatly in. "I don't want to be a bother to you, and I must speak to the police about this matter."

"Oh, no worries," he told me cheerfully as he started the car. "You'll get the best care from Lugg—and from myself, of course. Your every need will be taken care of, I can assure you."

"But—"

"No buts!" He shifted gears and pulled away from the kerb. "I insist you remain in my care for the remainder of the night, young Mr Ashley. I would never trust you to a cold, uncaring hospital."

"I rather thought the point of hospitals was to care," I objected. I was trying not to pay attention to his driving, as I didn't want to aggravate my current delicate condition.

"Not at all! Soulless, heartless places. I knew a man once who actually did lose his heart in hospital. They took it right out of him. He was never the same."

"Surely he was dead?" I responded in disbelief.

"Oh no," he assured me, glancing at me with a wide grin. I pulled back, very slightly, and wondered what on earth I'd gotten myself into. "He was still quite alive, but he never had the same zest for life as before. Even his wife noticed and they hadn't been on speaking terms for years."

Obviously, I had allowed myself to be pulled into the car of a madman. I would have to get out at the first opportunity.

"I'm quite safe, I assure you," he said, as if he could read my mind. "I just have a rather odd line in conversation, that's all." Again, he sounded somewhat sheepish, even embarrassed. "It's an affliction," he confessed most charmingly.

"Yes, of course," I said without much attempt at sounding sincere.

"We all have our weaknesses," he went on earnestly. "Mine happens to be of a verbal nature."

"I understand perfectly," I hastened to assure him, even though I didn't.

"Lugg will fix you up in no time. Head wounds are one of his specialties."

I was very tired, and he hadn't been making sense for rather a long time. "This chap Lugg?" I asked. "Is he a doctor?"

"Oh goodness me no," my new friend chattered on as he drove with a reckless abandon I would have found harrowing had I the energy. "All his surgical skills he learned in the clink. Really, it's amazing the things you pick up in places like that, eh?"

I nodded wearily, deciding that was the safest course of action. Perhaps he took pity on me, for he didn't speak up again until he had parked and turned off the car.

"Will you be able to handle the stairs, old chap?" he asked in a commendably solicitous tone. "You don't have to try it if you'd rather not. Why go to the doctor's office when we can bring the doctor's office to you?!" he continued, entirely too jovially.

His grin was also a trifle more manic than I would have liked. _What_ have _I let myself in for?_ I asked myself but could find no ready answer. "I'll be alright," I answered and gingerly and with little dignity pulled myself out of my new friend's Lagonda.

"This way," he called, leading me down the dark street toward a three-story building. I paused at the sign I saw outside it.

"You live by the police?"

"Everyone comments on that the first time they visit me," he replied as he opened the front door and tripped up a rather dingy stairway. I followed more slowly, leaning against the banister as surreptitiously as I could. "Well, those who don't know me very well already, that is," he added upon a moment of reflection. "It's the safest course of action, you see, considering some of the types who feel a need to visit my flat." He stopped at the door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open, sweeping me in grandly.

"Safe enough you don't need to lock your flat?" I asked, warily entering. I had no idea what to expect.

What I found was almost disappointing, certainly anti-climactic. It was a perfectly ordinary gentleman's room, with chairs and desks and knickknacks and things. Pictures on the wall and a fireplace to one side, fairly tasteful and certainly fashionable.

"Soft Furnishings," he said in my ear before nipping past me. "Perhaps you would care, however, to forgo the full tour for the moment and see the Blood and Gore Department immediately? Lugg!" he added in a commanding voice that caused me to wince. "Lugg!" he added even more imperiously, then took me by the elbow and gently but firmly led me out of the sitting room and into a bathroom.

"'Ere," said a sepulchral voice that surely took ten years off my life. I whirled around in the smallish space, nearly knocking my host off his feet, in time to see a large white figure wearing black appear in the doorway. "I was in the middle of me dinner; wot you yelling at me like that for—"

My host neatly deposited me on the seat of the lavatory. "Really, Lugg," he said repressively. "Must you discuss your culinary habits in front of the company? Your manners are deplorable."

Lugg, apparently, drew himself up and replied in a truculent tone. "I didn't know you 'ad company, now did I?" He eyed me critically for a long moment, and I stared back at him in fascination. His head was as bald and white as an egg, but he had a magnificent pair of moustaches. "'E could do with a bit of sewing up, couldn't 'e?"

"That was rather the point of my calling you," replied Mr Campion with the patience of a martyr. "Your skills with the needle, while not quite up to the par of a truly qualified surgeon, are better than mine. Our young friend got into an unexpected scuffle this evening and so didn't bring along his own personal physician," he went on as he slipped out of the room to allow his—manservant, factotum, bodyguard; I wasn't quite sure how to categorize Mr Lugg—to enter. "Do see what you can do for him, won't you? I'll fix us both a drink," he added to me with an entirely disarming smile. I was surprised the smile didn't stay behind after he disappeared from view.

"Did 'e get you into a fight, cock?" Lugg asked, turning to me suspiciously. My eyes widened, and I shook my head. A little too quickly, as the renewed pounding informed me. Lugg appeared to note my discomfort, as an expression of what I hoped and assumed was pity crossed his pale face. He turned to a small chest of drawers and opened the top drawer, removing what turned out to be a small kit of alcohol, swabs, thread, and needle among other odds and ends.

"'E's always making trouble," Lugg informed me confidingly as he cleaned and stitched the small wound on my forehead. He had remarkably deft fingers. "No-one respectable will ever talk to us again if he continues on the way 'e 'as these past few years. I try to tell him but will 'e lissen to me? O' course not."

"Discussing our private affairs in front of the company again, are you Lugg?" Mr Campion said from behind the larger man, and Lugg stiffened for a moment. "You are an uneducated and ill-favoured beast." He actually sounded quite angry.

"It's true, innit?" Lugg was defending himself furiously, and I felt intensely uncomfortable for him. I looked at the floor, a rather nice hard wood, unsure where else to direct my attention. "I'm surprised 'e came back with you! 'E must not know about the sorts you consort with."

"He's had my references and already knows of my Great Aunt Mabel," said Mr Campion with great dignity. "He's very understanding that not everyone is as high in stature as Great Aunt Mabel. She is six foot tall, you know," he added, turning to me seriously. He presented me with a generously-filled whiskey glass, manoeuvring the tray around his manservant's bulk with a flourish.

Mr Lugg snorted. "You don't 'ave a Great Aunt Mabel an' you never 'ave," he told his employer contemptuously. "Drink up," he added to me as he snipped off the end of the thread, in such a commanding tone I took a gulp before thinking about it. This led to a spluttering fit on my part and a thorough pounding of my back on Mr Lugg's part.

"He does have that effect on people, unfortunately," Mr Campion eyed me with sympathy. "Come, young sir, back to Soft Furnishings, where we shall make you comfortable and put you at ease in Lugg's horrible company."

"See if I ever take care of you when you're bloody and wretched again!" Mr Lugg slammed the small surgery kit back into its drawer before leaving the bathroom and disappearing with an air of wounded dignity down the hall the way he'd come.

"He'll stay in the kitchen all night and sulk unless someone interesting—other than you, of course—comes to call," Mr Campion informed me, returning to his amiable tones as he helped me stand and walked me back down the corridor. "It's his way. One can't really be fond of Lugg, but there is something comforting in his peculiarities."

_The same could be said for both of you_, I didn't dare say aloud, though he beamed at me when he caught the tiny smile I couldn't suppress. Perhaps he could read minds, I thought idly as I took a seat on the marvellously comfortable sofa. Perhaps they _both_ could. I took another sip of the excellent whiskey and decided I didn't care either way.

"He is rather remarkable," I replied cautiously. "He certainly seems to do excellent work in stitches; I didn't feel a thing." I ran gentle fingers over the cut on my forehead, but the pounding was already starting to recede.

"Oh yes, he's still quite good with his hands, even if he has lost his figure," Campion was as bright as a proverbial button as he leant against his fireplace and grinned down at me, holding his glass but rarely sipping from it. "It's hard to be a cat burglar without the proper body type for it."

"I've gone respectable," the good Mr Lugg himself rumbled as he sailed magnificently into the room, carrying a tea tray. "Unlike some people," he added in a mutter, depositing the tray on the low table in front of my seat. "Tea, if you would care for it, sir," he bowed to me in what was almost a travesty of goodly servant behaviour. I couldn't even laugh at him, he was taking his role so seriously. In any case, I didn't want to insult him. "I've also got some kippers, if yer 'ungry," he added in a low voice. Perhaps he didn't want his—boss—to hear him.

"Thank you, Lugg, that will be all," said the master of the flat, in a voice that indicated rolling eyes even if his didn't roll. Lugg stood and turned to leave without ever looking in the direction of Campion. Campion watched him leave before turning back to me, all charm. "Shall I be mother?" he asked, sitting down across from me and picking up the small silver pitcher. "Cream?"

"Sugar only, please," I replied long-sufferingly.

He obliged and handed the cup and saucer over. I wondered if it would be possible to pour some of the whiskey from my glass into my tea but decided it would be rude to experiment. I sipped from my cup before setting it down on the saucer. "Look," I said, "I hate to be rude, especially as you have been so unbelievably helpful this evening, but I really feel I ought to be going to the police."

"And you shall!" Campion told me, settling back across from me. He smiled and sipped his own drink. "I'll take you there myself, as soon as you've finished your tea. I merely wanted to make sure you wouldn't faint gracefully into the poor constable's arms when you go in to make your report. He probably wouldn't quite know what to do with you."

"Er, well…" I was beginning to feel I would be at a permanent disadvantage where Mr Campion and his compatriot were concerned. "Thank you. Again."

We sipped our tea, Campion continuing to chatter effortlessly. It was becoming a chore for me to keep my eyes open; I was feeling rather exhausted after my ordeal of the evening. "Come along," Campion said finally, setting down his saucer on the table. "We'd best get you to the police before you slide gracefully off my sofa and not even give the constable a chance."

"Yes, yes, you're right," I muttered, setting down my own teacup. "You don't have to take me, honestly; I'll just go downstairs…"

"Nonsense," Campion replied, picking up both our hats while ushering me out the front door. I noticed he didn't lock it behind us. "You might be accosted in the lobby. Besides which, I want to make sure they take proper care of you."

So he stayed with me while I made my statement concerning the evening at least three times and was finally told to go home and get some rest and they would be in touch if anything turned up. Campion called me a taxi and gave me some cash to pay for it.

"Oh really, Mr Campion," I began to protest. "I'll be able to pay when I get back to my flat—"

"Albert. And consider it a loan," he said firmly, handing me his card and putting me in the car. "After all, now we've exchanged war stories and become the best of chums, you can't forget about me. It'll be the perfect excuse for you to visit again." He grinned at me through the window, a nice inane sort of grin that would fool anybody. "Sleep well tonight, John. You might want to go to your own doctor in the next few days—of course I trust Lugg in almost all things, but it never hurts to be safe." He took a step back. "Good night."

I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head at the mad Mr Campion. "Good night, Albert," I called through the window. "Do take care."

He grinned back, and then the taxi pulled away. I settled back in the seat and sighed. For such a strange, surreal night, it had at least ended pleasantly enough.


End file.
